Veneration
by Kuruk
Summary: He comes to terms with himself and the meaning of love over the course of one hot summer.


_Warnings: Slash, sexual situations and some hard language. Nothing bad enough to warrant anything but a hard T rating, though._

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters of Harvest Moon. The story, however, is mine.

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_**Veneration**_

He knew it was wrong. There was no doubt in his mind that the... _things_ he did were reprehensible. And that was how they had to be described. As _things_. Because to call it something else would be a lie; it would be covering up how _wrong_ it was.

Summer meant _heat_ and _sweat_. It meant that the already hellish heat of the smithy became absolutely unbearable, and that his clothing would end up saturated with an unpleasant sticky sweat. He was already prone to flights of fancy (the pile of dog-eared fantasy books sitting on his dresser could attest to this), but he found that the summer heat rendered him completely incapable of _thinking_. It was all he could do to think about his room at the inn, where the promise of ice cold water, a ceiling fan and an open window made the season bearable.

He blamed the heat for the _things_. Surely if he could _think_ properly, he would never do something so obviously wrong... so sinful... so _bad._

His parents had raised him with a belt in one hand and with a Bible in the other, and while he never took to religion (he didn't make his way down to the church except on special occasions, the lax practices of his grandfather a welcome respite to the Bible-thumping of his parents) he did take to the _fear_. The fear of alienation, of judgment, of rejection and most of all, a fear of the unbearable _heat _of hellfire most of all.

The whole season just feels like _hell._

No one is perfect; everybody sins. He sinned on a regular basis—by disrespecting his grandfather, by disobeying his mother and father and running away from them, by swearing and taking the Lord's name in vain on a regular basis... Yes, he sinned. He never thought much of them, though, because these were sins that everyone committed. No one was perfect... everyone was allowed a few wrongs here and there. It was no big deal...

But surely a sin like _this_ was unforgivable.

Summer meant _heat_ and _sweat_... but it also meant _sin_ and _weakness._

The first time it happened, he hadn't seen it coming. How could he? He had never thought of _things_ like that before (flustered moments in private didn't count, nor did dreams that left him dizzy and confused and feeling _wrong_), so when he'd been slammed against the wall and had a pair of demanding, insisting, _damning_ lips forced against his own, he didn't know how to respond, how to _think_.

He'd kissed back (lips moving clumsily, embarrassingly, because he'd never done _that_ before outside stolen thoughts and forbidden fantasies that he would never admit to). And when he was touched, he'd touched back too (hands trembling, shaking against flesh that was _burning_).

It was so wrong... he _knew_ it was because when it was over, their bodies tangled and drenched and breathing so hard he thought they'd run out of air, he was overcome with a sense of dread that they'd _find_ _out_. That they'd know about what he'd let happen to him (what _they'd_ done) and call him names. That they'd look at him with hatred and speak to him with venom. That his friends would leave him and that the quiet librarian would refuse to let him into her library (into her life) anymore... That his grandfather would rage and call him a disgrace and tell him to _get out_, because he was disgusting and made him want to throw up just by breathing the same air.

He was terrified... so damn _terrified._ He'd gone to church, afterward, still feeling hot and dazed, almost as if he had a fever. Ashamed, he had begged for forgiveness... promised to never do it again...

But it had. A second time, and then a third. And a fourth and a fifth and a _sixth_ and so many times that he lost count.

He wanted to stop. So badly, he just wished that he could stop. That he could just be _normal_ and good, that he could stop thinking about moments where he was pressed up against something, being touched and kissed and... and... _held._ He wished that he could be the one that wanted to _hold_, that he could hold someone like her, the shy librarian that seemed so _well-suited_ to him. It wouldn't be perfect (because there's no such thing as perfection except God, they'd taught him) but it would be _good._ It would make _him_ good. And that would be okay.

Summer meant _heat_ and _sweat_ and _sin_ and _weakness_...

But it also meant... being _held_ and _caressed_. Because the first and second times had been all about _want_ and _lust_ and a _need_ so strong that there was no time for thought, but the third time had been slow and... and... it had been about things that were different, things that made him doubt that it was bad.

That's what scared him the most—when he felt like it couldn't be bad at all. He was being made to forget what was wrong and what was right, and the _things_ were slowly acquiring a different meaning.

_ Things_ implied sin. _Things_ meant that what they were doing was wrong. If pressed, he would give it the word _fucking_, because it was harsh and physical and that's what it felt the first two times. _Things_ meant _fucking_. But _things_ didn't mean... didn't mean...

Kai had called it _fucking_. He called it that after the first time and right before the second, when he had lashed out at him in rage and confusion and _fear_ and Kai had blocked his punch and pinned him against the wall.

"What the hell is wrong with you! It's just _fucking_. It doesn't mean anything!" Kai had screamed it, hands making fists around his wrists, causing the fair skin there to bruise. He had been breathing hard, dark eyes impossibly black with rage, and he had been breathing hard too, and before he knew it they were kissing and touching again and he was horrified to remember that _he_ was the one to start it.

It was easy for him to dismiss things like _that_ so easily. Kai was all about doing what _felt_ right and embracing who you are while he was all about doing what was right and pursuing who you _should_ be.

He knew that Kai had done _that_ before. It was obvious, because he had done it so... flippantly (_well)_, with the manner of someone who had done something like _that_ before and no longer attached any special meaning to it. He had been taught that _fucking_ was called sex, and that men and women were supposed to do it when it was right (when they were _married_, because even if you were a man and a woman doing it beforehand was just as _wrong_) to have children and that was it. Taking pleasure in it wasn't... _wrong_, but it wasn't what it was meant for. Kai laughed at that; he was all about _feeling_, and he especially reveled in feeling pleasure. Sex was about pleasure to him, it was about gratification.

Something about Kai's way of thinking struck him as inherently perverse. It made him think that he was no better than Kai, because since the two of them could not produce children, they were only doing it because it felt... _good._ And that was wrong.

But then there was the third time. And Kai hadn't snapped at him or pinned him against anything. He had cried when Kai had asked him what was wrong (because _everything _was_, nothing_ made sense anymore), and after a few moments of silence (besides his _pathetic_ sobbing that wasn't anything like how a man should behave), Kai had held him close. Instead of the urgency to _feel_, it had been slow. Lips had met in the lightest of brushes, hands holding lightly yet firmly (it had felt safe).

He hadn't attacked Kai afterward. Nor had he run off to the church to pray for forgiveness. He had stayed in his arms and considered... If _fucking_ was about urgency and pleasure, and sex was about creating children, then he didn't know what _this_ was. He didn't have a name for it.

After the fourth and fifth times, he had mustered the courage to ask Kai after. The traveler had smiled, pulled him close and kissed his forehead softly. "It's _making love_, Gray."

He had considered the term when Kai's breathing became deep and steady. He had stared at the deep mahogany of Kai's skin, the contours of his handsome face and the warmth he felt being as close to him as he was, bare skin touching shamelessly... _Making love._ Did that mean that they were in love?

Surely that didn't make it wrong? Because he knew that love was something... different. Something good and _sacred_, perhaps even more so than the Bible... He shuddered at the thought... but he didn't feel bad about thinking it.

He had lost count about how many times it had been after that. After that there had been more than... _fucking_ or sex, or _making love_ (whatever it was, because he still didn't know). There had been time spent laughing together and eating together and just spending time together...

Then one day summer was coming to an end, and the heat was ebbing away and he found that the sweat was too. Kai had taken him aside when the sun was setting on the beach (making the water _explode_ into yellows and oranges and reds so deep he was mesmerized by its beauty) and then he'd told him that he was leaving town, because summer was over and that meant that he had to leave.

And he had cried. "I thought you loved me..." he whispered, feeling weak and stupid and despicable at the same time.

Kai had held him, then. Held him close. "I do," he told him. "And when you love someone, you don't leave them alone. Come with me, Gray."

Summer meant _heat_ and _sweat_... but most of all it meant _love_. He'd never felt love before, not like this. He'd never been loved, never created it with someone. It was something intimate... something priceless. Something more sacred than the Bible and the church and God Himself. It meant being... _venerated_ by someone, being worshiped and held like you were the most precious thing in the world and doing the same for them in kind...

So he had nodded into Kai's shoulder.

The summer ended with them on that beach, holding each other in something that felt like relief... but the rest of the year began with Gray out in the _world_. With Kai at his side.

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_A/N: I make my return with this. Hope you enjoyed it._

_A view means a nice feeling, favorites mean an e-mail, reviews mean a smile.  
_


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